


Time on Our Side

by bazypitchandsimonsnow (ChessPargeter)



Series: Signs of Affection Prompts [2]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, M/M, Making Out, Time Travel, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChessPargeter/pseuds/bazypitchandsimonsnow
Summary: Simon and Baz get trapped in the Victoria era together. They regretfully need each other, and they find a lot along the way.Based on "a moan" request.





	Time on Our Side

**Author's Note:**

> Haha and I thought the last one was long! This is a whopper! Over 16,000 words, making this the longest one-shot I've ever written. Confession though: I started writing this ages ago. It was supposed to be the "time travel" fic for the Carry On Countdown, but then it was like 15 pages long and nowhere near finished the night before the prompt was due, so I abandoned it. But I recently realised it could fit perfectly for this prompt. So I had a motivation to finish it! And it ended up being 39 pages. Which I finished at 4am. I have no sense of moderation. Also thank you to Mrs_ZombieOctopus for being my biggest supporter because I would have to confidence to post this without her. Now, enjoy these overly long time travel shenanigans! :D

**Part 1**

_ Simon _

I hate this. I usually don’t mind Miss Possibelf’s classes. But right now I’m falling asleep. She’s going on and on about different time travel spells. The ones that rewind a couple seconds, or others that throw you back centuries. But they’re also dangerous, so we’re never supposed to use them. Which makes this all entirely pointless.

“The best tool for long term spells,” she says, “are artifacts. Something to link you to the past time. The more significant the artifact to that period, the more effective the spell can be. Some good spells are...”

She lifts up some old junk. I tune her out, letting my head loll onto Penny’s shoulder. She doesn’t shrug me off, too focused on the lecture. I let my eyes wander. There’s Rhys and Gareth, not paying attention and playing some sort of elaborate hand game under their table. Keris and Trixie are being gross in the corner. And of course, there’s that head of annoyingly smooth black hair. He’s paying attention of course, being a good student, pretending he’s not an evil plotting vampire.

“Simon!”

Penny jerks my head on her shoulder. “Wha?” I reply dumbly.

“We’re going to look at the artifacts. Get up!”

“Oh, okay.”

We wander around at the front of the class. There’s lots of little trinkets lined up in front. I look over them disinterestedly, twirling my wand between my fingers. It’s stupid shit. A flint arrow head, a chalice, some pottery. One thing does catch my eye. A small silver pocket watch. I cautiously pick it up by the chain.

“What are you doing, Snow?”

I don’t need to turn to see him. I can feel his sneer. I scowl and further shift away from him.

“Just looking at this watch, Baz,” I mutter.

“We’re not supposed to touch them, idiot.”

I turn to glare at him. He’s glaring right back. “Or what?”

“Or you could do something stupid.”

“Like what? Send us  **back to good old days** ?”

The magic spills into my words before I even realise it. Baz gasps.

“Snow, don’t!” He dives to grab the watch, but it’s too late. 

The world bends and twists around me, reshaping into new images. It’s like being in a fast car but worse. My ears pop and my stomach churns. Only sure thing I can feel is Baz’s grip on my wrist. And with a final loud boom, we’re falling.

We don’t fall far though, almost immediately hitting wet rock. My head hits it with a crack. Baz is still gripping my wrist. He groans but doesn’t move. The spell must’ve been as straining for him as for me, or maybe it was the concrete-head-smashing. Every attempt to move hurts too much.

I vaguely notice some man kneel over us. His coat is multicoloured, made of many different bright but dirty patches all sewn together.

“Help,” I rasp.

Then I pass out.

* * *

 

“Snow! Simon, wake up!”

I jolt awake. Baz’s face is front of me, but he’s kind of blurry though. All I see is his grey eyes are boring into me. He looks super pissed of course, but also a bit concerned. Maybe he was worried he wouldn’t get to finish me off himself.

“Baz?” I croak.

He sighs with what sounds way too close to relief. “Yes, you moron, who else? Wake up!”

The world comes into focus. I’m propped up against a brick wall. Baz is shaking my shoulders. I’m cold, and the wall is rough against my back. I smack his arms away.

“I’m awake, arsehole. What the fuck happened?”

“What happened was  _ you  _ fucked up, Snow,” he sneers. There’s the Baz I know. “You accidentally sent us back in time.”

My blood runs cold. “What?! To when?!”

“London, the Victorian era. If everyone’s dress sense is any clue.” He gestures to my left.

He’s right. We’re in a dirty cobblestone alley. And just outside of it, there are men in fancy hats and waistcoats, and women in high necked poofy dresses. Children with newspapers are shouting and carriages rattle down the way. Everything’s so busy that people hardly notice us. I remember seeing pictures of scenes like this in a kid’s history book about the Victorian times from the group home. That book did not account for the awful smell though.

“Shit,” I say.

“Yes, exactly,” Baz replies. “Doesn’t help that our wands are gone.”

I feel around my jacket and sleeves. He’s right, again. “Dammit!”

“They were gone when I woke up. Someone must’ve took them. The watch too.”

“The man!” I say with a snap. “There was a man with a bright patchy coat! Before I passed out. He, he must’ve took them. We find him, we get our wands back and go home!”

Baz raises an eyebrow. “So you suggest we search all of Victorian era London for one man in a patch covered coat?”

I raise an eyebrow right back. “Do you have a better idea?”

He contemplates this for a few seconds. His mouth tightens and his forehead scrunches up. Bit by bit, he relaxes and sighs heavily.

“Fine. We’ll find him. Then hopefully get home. Until then,” he sticks his hand out to me. “Truce?”

This could be a trick. That’d be his style. But it’s not like I have much choice. I grab his cold hand tightly. “Truce.”

We shake once. Baz stands and I try to follow, but my legs are still weak, making me immediately fall back down. I sheepishly lift my arm up. “First act of truce, help me up?”

Baz rolls his eyes, but still extends his hand to me. I take it and he yanks me to my feet. We stand with less than a foot between us. I swear I see a little pink spread across his cheeks, and his eyes flick down for a second. But he steps away before I can see anything else.

“First off,” he says firmly, “if we’re going to be wandering around, we’re going to need to blend in. We’ll stick out like sore thumbs dressed like this.”

I look down at our dirty uniforms. “For once, I actually agree with you. Got any money to buy stuff with?”

“None that would work here, obviously. We’ll just have to take it.”

Both my eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, Baz Pitch suggesting thievery. What would your father say?”

He rolls his eyes, practically sauntering out down the street. “Shut up, Snow. We’ve got a time period to escape.”

I run after him.

* * *

 

“Alright, so remember the plan?” Baz whispers.

“Yes, because you just told me it.” I glare at him.

“Just making sure. You are quite thick.”

I glare more harshly, and he glares right back. The air buzzes with tension between us. Let’s hope we don’t kill each other before we get home.

We walk into the storefront, a tiny bell signalling our entry. Baz makes a beeline for the counter, where a singular woman is working. He leans on to the counter.

“Good lady,” he says smoothly, “may I ask, where have you been all my life?”

Surprisingly, that works. She giggles and leans towards him. They talk with their heads close together, smiling and laughing. It makes my stomach hurt a bit. How can he such an arsehole to me but so kind to a stranger? Does he really hate me that much?

Baz’s eyes meet mine, and I realise I’ve been standing still this whole time. He silently tells me to get the fuck on with it. I rush off to the racks of clothes. Quick as lightning, I grab two outfit sets. Coats, shirts, pants, hats, and anything else we’d need. Then I rush out the door, just as the shopkeeper notices.

“Hey!” She yells just as the door closes.

I duck into a nearby alleyway, breathing hard. My heart is racing, lungs burning. Another person ducks in too and I freeze up. But it’s just Baz. He collapses on the wall next to me, breathing just as harshly.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” he pants.

“Course it did,” I reply with a chuckle. “You’re a plotting genius.”

Baz giggles, (he fucking  _ giggles _ ), and runs a hand through his hair. “Yes, your theories about my scheming prove to be correct, apparently.”

“Knew it! Though, I like it better when you’re plotting for me than against me.”

He turns to me, face more relaxed than usual. For a brief second, I think I see something close to happiness in his eyes. I didn’t think he was capable of such thing. But it disappears as quickly as it appeared. His usual emotionless mask reappears.

“Don’t get used to it, Snow,” he says flatly. “The second we’re back at Watford in the modern day, we’ll return to the usual.”

My blood boils. He’s still such a prat. I snort and look away. “Fine. Dickhead.” I shove some of the clothes at him. “Here. Let’s get dressed.”

He takes the garments. I turn around and start unbuttoning my shirt. I try not think about how close Baz is. We’ve never gotten undressed in front of each other. Against my better judgement, I look slightly over my shoulder. Baz is just removing his button down, revealing his long pale back. My breath hitches in my throat. Fuck, he isn’t ripped but he’s fit, muscles shifting as he moves. I’m practically transfixed. 

Wait what the hell is wrong with me?! I shouldn’t be thinking about Baz like this. He’s my nemesis, a vampire, and evil! Yet I’m still watching. Baz finally notices and sneers.

“A little privacy, Snow?” he growls.

I look away. “Sorry,” I mumble.

I quickly resume getting into my Victorian outfit. I try to banish the horrible thoughts. But one thing keeps bothering me. Why was Baz looking back as well?

* * *

 

If I could use one word to describe Victorian London, it’s dirty.

Everything, from the streets to the brick buildings, seems to be covered in a thin layer of soot and grime. It still feels like London though. Bustling, loud, and crowded beyond belief. Obviously over a century hasn’t change that. Baz and I have been wandering around for close to four hours. The sky is getting dim. The outfits we stole from a shop are fucking itchy. This era was certainly not one for comfort. I keep picking at my coat sleeve. Baz smacks my hand.

“Quit fidgeting,” he hisses.

“It’s itchy!” I reply. “And I’m fucking bored.”

“Sorry that trying to get home is boring for you.”

I roll my eyes. “Could we at least take a break? Get something to eat maybe? I’m starving.”

“We don’t have any money.”

I huff and kick pebbles with my shoes. Then I kick something harder. I look down. There’s a little cloth pouch at my feet. I pick it up and open the drawstring hole. A grin spreads across my face.

“Hey Baz,” I shout, as he’s a few feet ahead of me. He turns his head. “Look what I found.”

I jingle the coin purse. Baz’s eyes go wide, but then he grins devilishly. “I think you’re a good luck charm, Snow.”

“Damn right. Now let’s get something to eat, please.”

* * *

 

Victorian food is bland as hell. Seriously, do these people know spices exist? (Well, they’re British, so probably not.) I chow down on some kind of meat and it tastes like nothing. I make a disgusted face.

“This is awful,” I say.

Baz scoffs at me from across the table. “Not up to your culinary standards, Snow?”

“Well, how would you know? You’re not eating at all.”

“Not hungry.”

“Liar. They just don’t serve blood here.”

He clenches his fist, his whole body tensing with him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh c’mon Baz.” I lean back in my chair, exasperated beyond belief. “We both know I know. And we’re stuck with each other, possibly for awhile. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

He glares at me. I swear he’s about to attack. But instead he stands, tugging his jacket on. I hate to say it, but Baz makes quite the Victorian gentleman. The black coat, grey vest, and top hat suit him. It’s like he was born to be some dastardly Holmes villain. 

“I’m going out before I kick your stupid face in. I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t move from this spot or I’m leaving you.”

I know he’s going out to feed. But arguing seems pointless now. He’s a brick wall I’m not going to able to knock down.

“Fine. Just don’t get blood on your shirt. No washing machines.”

He sneers and turns away, coat swishing behind him. I angrily bite my bland bread. The possibility of us killing each other is getting more and more likely.

* * *

 

Baz surprisingly returns with no blood on his shirt, plus a lead. While feasting on (hopefully) rats, he met a prostitute who knew of a man with a bright patchy cloak who hangs by a bar in Whitechapel. With some helpful directions, we’re on our way, walking down the streets.

The conditions worsen as we get closer and closer to Whitechapel. People’s clothes get more dirty, and they look sicker and sicker. It’s quite awful. Sure, the group homes I’ve stayed in some were bad, but not this bad. I wish I could help them.

I pass a little girl, who coughs violently. I stop and kneel down next to her, holding out a piece of bread I was saving for later to her.

“Hey, want some?”

She hesitates for a second, but takes it, eating ravenously. She gives me a small smile, obviously too nervous for a proper thank you.

I tip my brown hat. “You’re welcome, dear.” 

I look at Baz, who’s standing a few feet in front of me. He’s smirking. It’s a real smile, but closest I’ve ever seen him get. It kind of fits, even better than his usual frown or pout. Maybe he should try smiling more often.

With one last ruffle of the girl’s hair once, and I walk off back to him.

“Always have to be the hero, huh Snow?” he says with no venom.

I shrug. “Got a reputation to maintain, Pitch.”

“Obviously. Let’s a get moving.”

We keep walking, the decrepitude continually increasing. Soon, we reach the bar. It’s a rickety place made of multiple kinds of wood. Baz bursts in, slamming open both door. (Always so dramatic.) Everyone turns to look at us.

Including a man with a vibrant patchwork coat.

“You!” I shout.

He scrambles out of his seat and dashes away. “Shit,” Baz hisses. We chase after him. Baz is faster (of course, he’s a vampire.) We follow him through the backdoor and out into the street. Bobbing and weaving between people, following through alleyways. But this man is a native, privy to all this area’s nooks and crannies. He ducks into another corridor and we’re done. It’s like he’s vanished into thin air. We stop, panting. Baz whips around to face me, and I can’t help but take step back. He’s seething with pure rage.

“What the fuck was that?!” He roars. “You pointed right at him! Gave us away!”

My blood boils. I shove my face into his. “I gave us away?!  _ You  _ threw the bloody door open like the drama queen you are!”

“I didn’t shout ‘you!’”

“I didn’t loom in the entranceway and make us so obvious!”

We stare at each other, eyes locked and filled with fury, fists balled at our sides. I wait for him to throw a punch. There’s no anathema stopping him. He could hit me. Our truce has no magic holding it together, no physical consequences. I could hit him too, I guess. A right hook across his stupid sharp jaw would certainly make me feel better for a moment. But...then there’s afterwards. Where I’m stuck in this strange place all by myself with no magic and no one to help. And I don’t think I really could survive that. I’m not sure I can do this alone. At least, I don’t want to be alone.

Baz’s hand unclenches and he lets out a shaky breath. He hangs his head. “I guess we both fucked up,” he whispers.

My fading anger fizzes out completely. I guess he doesn’t want to either. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He looks up at the night sky. “We should find somewhere to sleep and take up the search tomorrow.”

“Agreed. Any ideas?”

“We don’t have much money. So I say we find a dark corner to nod off in.”

“Is... that a good idea? I mean, what if we’re attacked?”

“Lots of people do it here, Snow. We just have to find a good spot. C’mon.”

He tugs my wrist, leading me out of the alley. We wander for a bit until we find a place behind another tavern. There are lots of empty crates left there. Baz shoves a couple aside and motions for me to follow. Once in the alcove, he shoves them back into place, creating a little wall between us and the outside world. There’s enough room for us both to sit against the wall with our legs stretched out. Baz removes his hat, putting it in his lap, and lets out a long breath.

“Today has been a day,” he mutters.

I chuckle. “Understatement of the century.”

He smirks a bit. “How could you know that? We’re in the wrong century.”

I laugh, a bit louder this time. “Shit you’re right.”

Baz joins in. His laugh is loud and warm like a crackling fire. “We’re so fucked!” he sputters out.

Our sounds turn hysterical. My stomach begins to hurt. It makes this all feel a bit better, laughing at the absurdity of it all. We’re stuck in the Victorian era, with no hope in sight of returning to our time. We could be stuck here. Two lifelong enemies, trapped together forever. How ridiculously, horrifically strange.

Slowly, we calm down, both gazing up at the stars. I flick my eyes over to Baz. He looks pained, mouth a thin line and eyes wide with sadness. And for the first time in all the years we’ve known each other, he looks completely human. Not a villain, or a monster, just a scared boy. And since we’re away from Watford, away from the war, I feel like I’m allowed to actually think of him like that. As an actual person. Maybe he’s thinking about never seeing his family again. That’d be understandable. The thought of never seeing Penelope again makes my heart hurt terribly.

I reach my hand over and touch his. He’s cold like always, but his skin is strangely warming. He inhales sharply, looking at me curiously.

“We’re gonna be okay” I say quietly.

He sighs heavily. “I hope so.”

“I  _ know  _ so.”

“How are you so sure?”

“I hate to admit it, but you’re probably the smartest person I know, next to Penelope. So if anyone can do the impossible, it’s you. ”

His face softens. I like him better like this, all the sharp angles of his features relaxed. Suddenly, to my surprise, he flips his hand over to loosely hold mine. His long fingers fit between mine.

“That’s quite the compliment, considering how much you revere Bunce.”

“Exactly.”

His mouth fall opens, like he’s about to say something, but he quickly closes it again. He looks to the sky.

“We should get some sleep,” he says.

“Yeah, okay.” I lean my head back against the hard wall. I’m so exhausted I don’t care about comfort. “Night, Baz.”

We don’t say goodnight to each other, not usually. It’s an unspoken rule between us. Mostly because we don’t speak unless in insults. But I’m too tired, too drained for rules or insults right now. And I think Baz is too, because he squeezes my hand lightly once.

“Goodnight, Snow.”

* * *

 

**Part 2**

I wake up to the sounds of horse hooves and shouting. My head isn’t against the wall anymore. I’m leaning on something scratchy and bony. And something cool is pressed against the top of my head. I open my eyes slightly, then wider than a deer in headlights. Shit. I’m leaning on Baz’s shoulder, and he’s resting on my head. Our legs are pressed together from thigh to toe. And we’re still holding hands!

I jolt away. It makes Baz wake up. He blinks bleary eyed. He takes in his surroundings, including our hands still linked. He snaps back and shifts to the right. We stare at each other. Baz’s eyes are wide and slightly fearful. Guess he’s still scared I’d hurt him. I don’t think either of us are sure how to proceed.

“Uh...” I say weakly. “I- uh, I-”

“We should get going,” he blurts out. “Get back to our search.”

“Y-Yeah. Sounds good.”

We stand up, brush ourselves off, and exit our little hideaway. We don’t look at each other and keep a safe distance between us.

* * *

 

We resume our search as best we can. Really, we just wander around East London for hours on end. Everything is seedy, dark, and unpleasant. The outfits don’t help us blend in at all. Crowley, we’d be better off in our Watford uniforms. 

Baz doesn’t seem to have a plan. He’s pretending he does, asking people, keeping track of places we’ve been. But I can see him getting more and more agitated. He starts grabbing at his hair more frequently, rolling the strands between his fingers. He sucks on his fangs when he thinks I’m not looking. Baz isn’t use to failure, and the constant state of it is obviously getting to him.

He’s stomping down a street we’ve been through twice, grumbling under his breath. I follow behind. It’s weird, seeing him become the frazzled one for once.

“Baz,” I say calmly.

He doesn’t hear me (or doesn’t listen), continuing with his stomps.

“Baz!”

He finally stops to whip around at me, scowling very hard. “What?!”

“We’re going in circles. We need to sit down and get our heads on straight or we’ll get nowhere.”

“Oh, says the boy who barrels into everything sword and thick head first!”

I flinch a bit. Him and his stupid barbed tongue. But he’s not going to throw me off that easily. I march up to him so we’re nearly toe to toe, hands on my hips. “Yeah, I do that, all the time. And you call me an idiot for it. So stop acting like me and start acting like Baz! When I said you’re one of the smartest people I know I meant it. Sit down and use that big brain of yours to think our way out of this.”

He glares harshly, jaw locked, trying to intimidate me. But it won’t work. We’re not at Watford, with magic and two armies on our sides. We’re all each other has. I’m not leaving.

Finally, he relents and sighs, then sits down on the street curb. I sit next to him. His lips are pressed together, eyes lost in thought and foot tapping the cobblestone. It’s how he always looks when he’s plotting. I usually find it infuriating. But now that he’s doing it my favour, it’s fascinating. Watching the gears work away in his head. And then I see them click. His eyes light up and his lips spread into a smile.

Baz snaps his fingers. “The bordellos.”

“What?” I reply.

“The bordellos. I got the location of the man from a prostitute yesterday. Maybe this man frequents such establishments. Most likely, the one near where we first found him. Maybe one of the women inside know his name and where he may be. Seems logical, no?”

I grin broadly. “Very logical. Let’s go.”

We stand up simultaneously and dash off, and I'm smiling like an idiot.

* * *

 

We find the closest house to the tavern. Baz pushes through the gauzy curtain first. It reeks of sweat and dirt, with a sort of floral scent coating everything. Beautiful women in very racy outfits surround us. Old fashion rouge and eyeshadow cake their faces. They leer over me, smiling with missing teeth. I’m very uncomfortable. But somehow, Baz is perfectly calm. He walks with his head held high. An orange haired woman in blue comes up to him.

“You’re be pretty,” she says, reaching a finger towards him. “Want ta come and play?”

“Sorry,” he says flatly, “you’re not exactly my type, love.”

She frowns like a kicked puppy. “What, not into redheads?”

“Not something so trivial or changeable. Just trust me, darling, you’re barking up the wrong tree. Try someone else.”

She harrumphs and walks away with a swish in her hips. Baz makes a “pfft” noise, blowing some black strands out of his face. “You’d think the hair length would be a clue in this era,” he says so quietly I barely hear him.

What is he on about? Not his type? Maybe he was just being nice and didn’t want to insult her hair colour. But Baz doesn’t sugar coat things, especially for some stranger. And what about his hair length? Sure, it was long for a bloke. But that wasn’t a cause for concern. What could it possibly imply? I mean-

Wait.

No.

_ No. _

That couldn’t be it. He flirts with Agatha endlessly. He likes her! But...he does only seem to flirt when he knows I’m watching. Maybe he really was doing it just to piss me off. But in reality he’s actually...

No, I would’ve noticed. We live together. I know him better than anyone. Right?

While I’m dwelling, Baz walks forward and deeper into the building. I quickly catch up. He goes right to an older looking woman smoking a pipe. It’s the longest pipe than I’ve ever seen.

“Hello,” he says to her calmly. “I’ve come to inquire about a man.”

“You’re  in the wrong place, luv,” she replies, words slightly slurred. “Only got girls.”

“Not like that, good madam. I’m looking for a possible customer of your’s. An older gentleman with a bright patchwork coat who may come here. He took things of mine and my friend’s over here. We need them back immediately.”

She turns to face him. Her blue eyes are cloudy and not all there. She seems to be more looking through him than at him. That pipe must be full of something other than tobacco.

“You may be talking about Eddie. Wears a funny coat. He comes ‘ere a lot.”

“Has he been here recently?”

“Yes. Came ‘ere boasting about his new fancy watch and sticks. Said the ivory one was gonna make him rich.”

“Those are our’s. Where does he usually stay.”

She takes in a deep breath of her pipe, breathing out flower smelling smoke. “Last... I heard, he lived in a warehouse, on Devonshire.”

Baz nods once. “Thank you, m’am.” He opened our coin purse and handed her one. “For your troubles.”

She smiles stupidly. “Welcome, pretty man.”

Baz turns on his heels, motioning with his head for me to follow. I do a few feet behind him. My previous question is still rattling in my brain. Am I right about Baz? If so, what does that mean? Does it change anything? Does it change everything?

No time for that now, though. We have a man to find.

* * *

 

We sneak into the warehouse quietly. The place is decrepit beyond belief, practically falling apart, so not making the floors creak is...difficult. Plus I have a heavy step, much to Baz’s chagrin, especially now. He hisses at me to be quiet incessantly. I eventually stick my tongue out, which he rolls his eyes at. But he stops bloody hissing. So it’s juvenile, but effective.

We go up the creaky stairs. Baz sticks his arm out, stopping me. He points to the floor above us. Where a patch covered lump is sleeping. I nod in acknowledgement. We tip toe up higher and higher until we’re a few feet from. Baz walks like a stealthy cat, hunched down, arms out, steps light and careful.

Then his heel hits a certain board, which creaks louder than anything.

Eddie jolts awake, immediately aware of his surroundings. And us.

He jumps up and scampers away. Fuck caution. I chase after him as fast as I can.

“Snow!” Baz yells. “For fuck's sake, Snow! Be careful!”

I don't listen. Eddie runs up higher and higher, but I keep a few feet behind him. We reach a rickety catwalk that spans the whole building. He dashes across it. Finding my second wind, I get closer and closer, until I tackle him down. He yells, kicking and punching at me.

“Give, them back!” I roar, blocking his fist.

“Never!” He replies.

We scrabble on the platform. I'm used to fights, sure, but not fights with 19th century street beggars. And it looks like they fight very dirty. Eddie knees me right in the stomach, knocking the wind out of my lungs and sending me flying to right. I crash into the railing. It falls to bits when I hit it, sending me toppling off the edge. My heart stops immediately. Scrambling, I grab the ledge with one hand. Eddie scurries off.

“Shit!” I yell.

Despite my better judgement, I look down. I'm at least twenty feet off the ground. My vision swirls with vertigo, the stone floor melting into a sea of dizzying grey. I’m too exhausted to climb up, and I have no magic to help. I’m totally helpless. And probably about to die.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

I’ve always expected to die, but at the hands of the Humdrum or Baz, and not for at least a little while. Now I’m faced with my certain demise and I’m so terrified. My fingers are slipping, my arms are shaking. Aleister Crowley, I don’t want to die! I’m so focused on my own thoughts. I barely hear Baz's footsteps approaching.

“Simon!”

I expect him to run past and go after Eddie. It'd make sense. He'll let me fall, get his wand back, and return home as the hero to his family. No more Chosen One to worry about. 

Which is why it's a surprise when a strong hand grabs my forearm and hauls me up in one pull. The shock of the movement leaves me unsteady, making me wobble on my feet. 

Even more surprisingly, Baz wraps his arms around me and crushes my body to his, burying his forehead on my shoulder. One hand cups the back of my head, tangled in my hair, and the other arm is a steel band around my back. I stand there completely still, just in too much shock to move. Is...Is Baz hugging me? Actually, genuinely, hugging me? His arms are around me. But he’s not trying to stab me, or strangle me, and he definitely can’t curse me without his wand. Yet he’s still holding me, pressing our entire bodies against each other. So evidence seems to suggest one thing: Basilton Pitch is hugging me.

“Don't you ever do that again, you stupidly brave idiot,” he whispers, so quietly I'm actually not sure if I'm supposed to hear him.

He doesn't let go. And, it feels nice. I stop shaking from fear. My body feels warmer than it ever has been in the last two days. It's scary being trapped in such a strange place, and Baz is the only familiar thing in it. For once, I'm grateful he's here. And him hugging me just makes me feel...safe, weirdly enough. 

Slowly I move my arms up and lightly touch his back. It feels wrong to stay stiff. But that seems to snap him out of it. He pulls back almost immediately. There’s a slight red colour across his cheeks and a wide, terrified look in his eyes. He looks away and clears his throat once.

“It seems we’ve lost Mr. Eddie again,” he says flatly.

“Yeah. Arsehole got the better of us.”

He scoffs and smirks. And it makes him look normal again, no more fear. At least that’s good. “Clearly. Dear lord, what would my father say? Outsmarted by a Victorian era street beggar.”

I chuckle. “Probably exactly what the Mage would say to me.”

We both laugh briefly, but we’re too tired for humour I think. The past minutes have worn us out like it’s been a whole day.

“I think,” Baz finally says, “we should get some food. If I’m hungry, you must be practically famished.”

My stomach rumbles right on cue. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

We walk together, not touching, but Baz stands a bit closer to me. And I feel a bit safer.

* * *

 

We end up at cheap tavern and inn just outside of Whitechapel. I chow down on some bland meat and potatoes while Baz goes “for some air”. I wish he’d just admit it. He knows I know, and we’re stuck together for an indefinite amount of time. Might as well just come clean.

I’m down to one quarter of meat left, and I just can’t. I love food but this isn’t food. It’s pure blandness condensed into a food form. My tastebuds are close to leading a revolt out of my mouth. I go from my table and bring the plate to the barkeep.

“Just go give it to the dogs, love,” she says, pointing at the side door. I huff but go towards the exit anyway. Maybe the mutts will enjoy it better.

I push the door and it swings open with a crash as I step out. Which shocks the black haired pale man standing just to the right. His grey eyes are wide with terror. His long white fangs push out over both his lips. A fat dirty rat is clutched in both his hands. We’re both frozen, staring at each other.

“Aleister Crowley,” I whisper, “I was right.”

Baz scowls, which is even more intimidating with the vampire fangs. He flings the rat to the ground.

“Yes, you were right, Snow,” he spits out. It should be intimidating, but he sounds funny. Sort of like he’s wearing braces. “Happy? Now you can tell your precious Mage when we get back and have my fangs pulled and wand snapped. Or better yet finish me off right now! At least it wouldn’t prolong the inevitable!”

He looks angry of course. But also scared, and sort of hurt. His fists are clenched and his eyes are quivering. If this were anyone else I’d say he was on the verge of tears. But Baz doesn’t cry. Right?

“So is this what you do?” I say, meeting his fury with calm. He stops shaking slightly. “Drink from rats in alleys? Never humans?”

He’s taken aback, obviously disgusted. “Never. I’m not a murderer.”

He could be lying. But the horrified look on his face is too genuine. Even Baz can’t fake that. I shrug. “Then I don’t see an issue.”

His fists finally unclench. He stares at me bewildered. “Seriously? You’ve been trying to expose me for years, and now that you know for sure, you don’t care?”

“Now that I know you go around hunting furry pests? Yeah, I don’t care. It’s not like I’m a militant vegetarian.”

“This seriously doesn’t bother you? I’m a  _ vampire.” _

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I mean, it used to bother me, cause I thought you were gonna drain me dry or turn me into a zombie. But the last few days have been properly educational, haven’t they?”

He still looks bewildered. “Besides,” I continue with a shrug, “you sort of saved my life today. What kind of arsehole would I be if I exposed you after that?

His face fully relaxes, smirking with fangs retracted. “That’s probably the most reasonable, eloquent thing you’ve ever said.”

I roll my eyes like Penny would. “Yeah yeah, fuck off, I’m trying to be nice.”

“So am I.”

We look at each other for awhile. Everything feels calm. It’s like a weight has been lifted off both of us. The big looming not-so-secret is fully out now.  And it’s sort of okay, because we’re on truce. We’re not enemies here. It’s sort of nice.

I break the moment with a yawn. The day has knocked everything out of me.

“Tired, Snow?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Should we go find another corner?”

“I think, after the day we’ve both had, we deserve a proper room with a bed. Agree?”

“Definitely. Cobblestone isn’t comfortable.”

He walks into the tavern, and I follow. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, following him. But I don’t mind. We’ve survived together so far. Might as well keep doing what’s working.

* * *

 

We get a room with a small double bed, which is all we can afford. It’s cramped with an even smaller and dirtier bathroom. Without hesitation, I offer to sleep on the floor. Baz mumbles what I assume is an agreement. We shed our coats, vests, and shoes. I use my coat as a pillow. It’s a scratchy pillow, but beggars can’t be choosers, I guess. The floor is cold and uncomfortable. It’s better than cobblestone at least. I try to find a better position, shifting around with annoyed grunts. Baz lets out a long sigh.

“Get up here, Snow,” he says.

“What?”

“Get up here. There’s room enough for two.”

My blood runs cold, ever present old fears rising to the surface. I can’t help it. Despite everything, it’s instincts I’ve had for eight years. “Is this some sort of plot?”

He leans over the bed to stare down at me. He’s not angry or even annoyed, just sort of exasperated. “As we’ve already established, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to kill you which I have not taken. And don’t think this is for your benefit. If your back hurts tomorrow, I’ll have to listen to you complain about it the whole time. So get the fuck up here.”

I keep watching him, waiting for him to laugh or sneer and take it back. But he doesn’t. He just seems tired. And I’m pretty tired too.

“Alright,” I sigh. “Shove over.”

He shifts to the other side of the bed, keeping his back to me. I get under the itchy wool blanket. It feels like I’m lying on a bunch of lumpy, stiff cotton balls.

“This mattress isn’t much better than the floor,” I chuckle.

“Would you like to go back to the floor?”

“Well, no, I was just-”

“Then stop whining and go to sleep.”

I humph. “Fine. Night.”

“Goodnight.”

This is so weird. Sure, Baz and I have shared a room for years, but this is definitely very different. We’re not touching but there’s little room between us. Maybe two inches at best. Even without looking I can just sense his presence next to me. I can feel the mattress rise and fall slightly with his breathing. It’s a soft rhythmic motion I find it strangely soothing. It reminds that through all this insanity, Baz is the one constant. And I don’t think he’s going anywhere any time soon.

I close my eyes, and fall asleep to the sound and feeling of Baz next to me.

* * *

 

**Part 3**

Six days and counting. That’s how long Baz and I have been here. Victorian London is still awful, what with it’s bland food and filthy buildings, but I think I’m getting weirdly used to it. I hardly crash into anyone on the streets anymore. The rough wool doesn’t bother me as much. Maybe I’m actually going native.

And Baz, despite his scowling, is adjusting to discomfort as well. More specifically to my constant presence. Sure, he still insults me, but there’s less of an edge to it. He doesn’t go for the lowest blows anymore. Just the medium ones.

“For Merlin’s sake, Snow, hurry up!”

I catch up to him as quickly as I can. “Fuck off, Baz, my foot still hurts from our street snooze last night. When can we sleep in a bed again?”

“When you stumble upon another change purse. I’m saving what we have left in case it rains.”

I huff, but don’t protest either. I hate to admit it but he’s right. Damn him and his logic. 

We continue down the streets towards another less than reputable establishment. We’ve been going to every single one around Whitechapel. And there are a lot. Shops, bordellos, and taverns. I’m pretty sure all of East London knows us at this point. But we’re still no closer to finding Eddie or our wands. No closer to home.

Baz stops outside the entrance, leaning against the walls with his arms crossed. I look at him blankly. What the fuck is he doing? He jerks his head to the entrance.

“Go in, Snow.”

I inhale sharply, body going stiff. “What, me?! Go talk to, them?!”

“Yes. I’ve been doing it for the past six days. I’m tired. It’s your turn. Go on.”

“B-But, I’m shit with words.”

“Then this will be good practice.” 

“But-”

He rubs his forehead and sighs like he’s in pain. “Please, Snow, just once. I need a break.”

I can see the bags under his eyes. He must’ve not slept well last night. I could be mean. But that wouldn’t be fair. Baz has been nicer to me. Only fair if I return the favour.

“Fine,” I say, “just don’t go running off, k?”

“Not planning on it,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.

I walk into the building. It reeks of beer and sick. The patrons turn to face me. They’re all men, and all at least twice my size. I’ve faced down goblins and vampires, but this is a lot scarier. I don’t have my magic or my sword. Any of them could beat me to a pulp. And if my brawl with Eddie taught me anything, it’s that I shouldn’t go looking for a fight here. I swallow nervously, and walk to the bar.

The man behind the counter looks just like his customer base. He glares at me under bushy eyebrows.

“H-Hello,” I say.

“What do you want, Irishman?” He replies, voice deep and scratchy.

I blink at him confused. “I’m not Irish.”

He scoffs as he cleans a glass. “Could’ve fooled me with all those freckles.”

Arsehole. “W-Well, I was wondering if you’ve seen a man around. He goes by Eddie, wears a bright patch covered coat. Got something of mine that I need back.”

The man seems to actually contemplate this for a bit. He slowly nods. “I’ve seen him. Came in here yesterday trying to sell me some useless fancy sticks.”

My heart beats wildly. For the first time, I feel that dreaded emotion; hope. “Yes! Those sticks, they’re mine and my friend’s. Uh, family heirlooms. Will he be back here?”

He shrugs “Maybe. I’d try Spitalfields pawn shops. If he can’t sell them in Whitechapel, he’d probably go there.”

“Yes, thank you!”

I dash out the door, heart racing and mouth grinning. Finally a lead! After so many days we have another lead. Baz will be so-

I stop in my tracks. Baz is still standing propped against the wall. But there’s a woman screeching at him. She’s wearing a fancy dress and waving a small black Bible at him. Fuck, she’s practically spitting on him. He’s not retaliating, just looking away.

“Begone foul demon!” She yells. “The power of Christ compels you!”

Baz doesn’t respond, just turning away from her further. I march towards them.

“Hey!” I shout. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

She glares at me. “I am banishing this devil! Look at his pale skin and claws and long hair. He is obviously a monster. One of those living corpses of Romania! He has no place in our fair city!”

She shoves the Bible in my face. I smack it away, scowling at her in the most Baz level menacing way I can. “You’re talking absolute bollocks. And you got no right to yell at my friend just standing here. Now kindly fuck off before I shove that book down your throat until you choke on it.”

We lock gaze, both obviously stubborn. Determined fire fills my veins. But I’ve faced down much worse than her. Fuck I just did inside that tavern. She backs down.

“Very well, devil lover,” she mutters as she walks off. I flip off her back. Why are there so many arseholes today?

I turn to Baz. His arms are crossed, body curled in on itself. He’s staring intently at the ground. All I can see is his mouth, shaped into a thin tense line.

“Hey,” I say softly, “you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice strained.

“You can’t lie to me, Baz, I can tell.”

He chuckles, but there’s a mournful edge to it. “Because you know me oh so well, Snow?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He finally lifts his head. His whole face is tight, straining against the feelings he obviously doesn’t want to show. But I can tell. I reach out to touch his shoulder. He flinches at first, but slowly his muscles relax.

“You’re not a monster,” I say softly.

He scoffs sadly. “She seemed to think so.”

“Who gives a fuck what she thinks? This era hasn’t invented the mint Aero bar yet. How smart can these people be?”

Baz laughs but he’s obviously trying not to. He tilts his head against the wall, eyes closed and breathing deeply. There’s tension on every muscle of his face. I stand next to him with our shoulders touching.

“She would’ve call me a monster too,” he whispers.

“Who?”

“My mother.” My blood runs cold. Shit, this is really getting to him. “She hated vampires. She’d hate what I am now.”

“How do you know that?”

He turns to glare at me icily. “She died killing them, Snow. How do you think she’d feel about her own son being one of those monsters?”

“I already told you, you’re not a monster.”

He quirks up one brow. “You really think that? You’ve been calling me one for years.”

I sigh, picking nervously at my coat sleeve. “I was wrong, alright? You’re a lot of things, Baz. You’re a snob, and a bully, and a complete arsehole. But you’re not one of them.”

Baz stares at me for awhile. If I knew any better, I’d say he looks in awe. But that can’t be right. Why would he look at me like that? Finally, his mouth pulls up into a wry smile.

“I’m impressed. You just insulted and complimented me in a single statement.”

I chuckle and knock his shoulder. “Thanks, dickhead.”

Baz sighs, and subtly wipes stray tears from his cheek. “So, did the tavern give you a lead?”

“Actually, yeah. Said we should check Spitalfields instead.”

“Then let’s go.”

He goes to grab me, but instead of my wrist, he takes my actual hand. It has a different sort of sensation. Like warm fire through my nerves. Sure he’s still dragging me, but it feels kinder. I’m not a child he’s reluctantly bringing along. Rather it feels more like I’m his partner, his equal. I like it. A lot.

I think I like him a lot too.

* * *

 

Spitalfield isn’t much different than Whitechapel. Just as destitute, dirty, and derelict. We check pawn shops, taverns, bordellos, everything. But there is still nothing. I watch as Baz deflate more and more with every failure. The slight happiness he acquired earlier vanishes under the weight of it. I’m feeling it too.

We walk down a crowded street, Baz has his hands shoved in his pockets. He’s grumbling under his breath. I slowly reach out towards him. Maybe I could comfort him, like before, if I-

“Oi! Nice man!”

I whip around, as does Baz. A little girl is running towards us. No, not just any little girl, the one from days ago, who I gave my bread to. She’s grinning ear to ear, twin braids waving through the air as she sprints towards me.

“Hello,” I chuckle, kneeling down to her level. “What a coincidence seeing you again.”

She giggles. “Not really. Been lookin for ya. Never did give thanks for the bread. Thank you.”

“Well, you’re welcome.”

She sticks out her hand. “I’m Molly.”

I accept it. Her hands are grimy and rough, but still dainty like a child’s. “My name’s Simon.” I jerk my head towards Baz. “And this is-”

“Basilton,” he says flatly. “But you may call me Basil if you like.” Basil, huh? Well, Baz isn’t exactly a common name in the Victorian era. (Neither is Basilton though.)

“Hello, Simon and Basil. Want to come and play?”

I look at Baz. He’s rubbing his grey lips together in contemplation. All I can see though is the tired bags under his eyes. And how much it hurts to look at them.

“We could use a break,” I say calmly. “We  _ have  _ been searching for six days straight.”

He looks tense for another second, but in the end just sighs. “Yes. A break would not hurt.”

I turn back to Molly. “Sure. Let’s play.”

She smiles and it’s like pure sunshine. “Hooray!”

With that, I’m willfully dragged by her down the street. Past rows of ramshackle houses. Until we reach a group of similar looking little girls. They’re dancing in a circle, singing Ring Around the Rosey. 

“You know the song?” Molly asks.

“Yes, I know I do,” I reply. “Basil?”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course I know the rhyme, Snow. Every child does.”

“Well you’re not like every child hm? Mr. money pants?”

He rolls his eyes again, but with a reluctant smile on his lips. Molly pulls me towards the group, and I in turn pull Baz. We’re easily accepted into the circle. Baz and I hold hands tightly. We spin with the children, taking small steps as to not stomp on tiny feet. And when we reach “we all fall down,” the girls pull us to the ground, making us hit the cobblestone with a thump. Baz laughs, airy and carefree. The stress on his face is faded. Thank magic for that.

We participate in a few more rounds of the song. But soon the children become more fascinated with the two of us. One of them, Jennifer, becomes fascinated with Baz’s hair.

“Your hair is so long for a bloke,” she says with awe. 

“Yes, it is,” Baz replies flatly. There’s no malice in his voice though. He’s surprisingly tolerant of the young girl.

“Can I touch it?”

Baz shrugs, taking off his hat. “I don’t see why not.”

Jennifer pets his hair softly. She giggles as she rolls a strand between her fingers. “How d’ya get it so soft?”

“Magic, obviously.”

Jennifer laughs again. “Could I braid it? Only a little, I promise. You can take them out after.”

Baz nods softly, just once. “I think that’d be quite wonderful.” 

She grins, and starts making a small braid one side. Others join her, taking different parts of his hair, and Baz doesn’t shove them away. He could, but he just sits there and lets the girls play with his hair. It’s actually very sweet. Crowley, never thought I’d associate Baz with sweet.

“Here!” Molly shoves a group of tiny flowers at my face. “For the bread.”

Though taken aback, I accept the gift. “Why thank you, love,” I say with a chuckle.

I take a single one and stick in the lapel of my coat. It’s a lovely daisy. I’m honestly surprised anything grows in all this smog and dirt. But even anything, even this small flower, can overcome adversity I guess.

Molly ropes me into a game of Jacks. I used to play back at the group homes, but my skills are rusty. It’s not too disheartening to get beaten by an eight year old. Mostly because it’s worth seeing her big grin. I realise that I can’t remember a time when I was so carefree. No Humdrum, no war, just having fun. Crowley, it’s wonderful.

“Molly? Molly Jones! Where are you, ya little rascal?” A woman’s voice calls out.

She walks around the corner. She’s gruff looking, wearing ratty clothes with dirt on her fingers, but she has the same brown hair and pretty features as Molly.

“Mama, I made new friends!” Molly yells, running to her.

Baz and I both quickly stand up. I brush off my trousers. Mrs. Jones looks at us suspiciously, brown eyes narrowed. Baz clears his throat and offers his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, good madam,” he says. “I am Basilton Pitch. And this is my friend, Simon Snow.”

“I see.” She continues glaring, not taking Baz’s hand. Soon he just drops it awkwardly. “What are two gentlemen like you palyin’ with my girl?”

“I invited them Mama!” Moly chirps. “Simon gave me the bread a few days ago, remember?”

Mrs. Jones brows shoot up. She looks at me wide eyed. “That was you?”

I look down, slightly embarrassed. “Y-Yes, it was. Molly invited us over to play. I’m sorry for being inappropriate. I-”

“Oh bollocks. I was just worried you were going to steal from her. But if you gave her your own bread I doubt that.”

The tension releases from my body. Phew. I look up again with a smile. She offers her hand this time.

“Eleanora Jones. You can call me Ella though.”

I accept. Her hand feels just like her daugther’s but bigger. “Nice to meet you, Ella”

“Mama, can Simon and Basil come for supper?” Molly says with hopeful glee.

Ella looks down at her kindly. “Well, if they like, love.” She lifts her head towards us again. “I’ve made beef stew, lots of it. And I could wash yuir clothes. They look like they need it.”

My eyes flick to Baz. We ask each other the same question wordlessly. And we give the same answer.

Baz smiles. “We’d be delighted.”

* * *

 

The Jones house is small but nice. There are no doors between the rooms, just heavy wool blankets in their place. I sit in the tiny kitchen, Baz next to me. We’re both dressed in oversized clothes belonging to Ella’s absent husband while ours dry out. Molly sits opposite us with a wide grin. Ella places old porcelain bowls in front of us filled with stew. I inhale deeply. It smells better than anything I’ve had in the past few days.

“Dig in, Mr. Snow,” Ella said.

“Please, call me Simon,” I say before taking a big spoonful in my mouth.

Baz eats small portions, hand over his mouth. Molly lifts the bowl and drinks straight from it. When she puts it down, brown liquid drips on her chin. I giggle, almost spraying broth everywhere. Baz kicks my foot.

“So,” Ella says, “where are you from?”

Baz flicks his eyes over to me. I tilt my head towards him, silently trying to tell him to speak. If anyone is going to come up with a reasonable explanation it’s him.

“Out of town,” he says. “We came here for a visit, but then our belongings got stolen. We’ve been looking for them ever since.”

“Oh how awful! How long you been wandering?”

“Almost a week. Still haven’t found the man who stole from us.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. How much longer do ya think you’ll stay?”

Our eyes meet again. What was the answer to that question? Until we get our stuff back? Possibly forever and ever? It’s not exactly easy to think about. From the ways Baz’s face twists, I have a feeling he’s got the same fears.

“Not sure,” he says flatly, pushing his food around on his plate. “Possibly much longer.”

“Hm. Well, if ya need some work in meantime, the tavern I cook for needs a couple of table boys. Get some extra coin.”

I inhale sharply. I’m not sure why though. It’s a kind enough offer. We’ll need money if we’re going to stay here indefinitely. It just feels like a surrender in a way. Getting jobs is one step closer to settling down. What if we get comfortable here? Would we ever want to go home? I can already feel myself adjusting to being here. It’s almost too easy to let go of all the pain and suffering back at Watford. Where the Humdrum is, where I’m supposed to die, where Baz and I are enemies and all we’ve achieved together can’t happen. It’s a strange place to be in. To both miss and fear your home.

“Thank you for the offer,” Baz says cooly, but I can hear a strain in his voice. “We’ll certainly take you up on it if we need to.”

“Excellent. Now dig in, please. You’re all skin and bones, Mr. Pitch.”

I snort, earning a glare from Baz. But he’s smirking as well. It makes my tension ease slightly. At least if we’re stuck here, we’ll keep having this. But it just makes me worry about going home even more. 

We eat in mostly silence after that, with the occasional odd question from Molly. She wants to know our favourite bird and song and every other odd fact. All inconsequential facts to satisfy an eager eight year old’s curiosity. Baz surprises me by being quite pleasant with her. I heard he had younger siblings, but it’s weird to see it.

Once we’re done, we help Ella clean up. Baz and I dutifully dry while Ella starts singing some old sea shanty she learned from her currently at sea sailor husband, as she tells us.

_ “As I was a walking down Paradise Street,” _ she yell-sings.

_ "Way hey blow the man down,”  _ Baz sings back on perfect key. I look at him curiously. How does he know this song?!

_ “A pretty young damsel I chanced for to meet.” _

_ “Give me some time to blow the man down!” _

They continue their back and forth as I watch with utter fascination, almost dropping a few wooden dishes. Baz grins ear to ear between every verse. He’s genuinely enjoying himself. It’s strange what entertains him. It’s nice though, to see him happy after so many days of defeat.

Ella spins around, with a laugh.  _ “ _ _ `Twas devilish hard treatment of every de-” _

“Mama!” Molly whines from the next room. Ella sighs and stops her singing.

“Aye, that girl,” she mutters with a twinge of affection. “There’s nothing left to wash and not much left to dry. You two lads good on your own for a bit? Promise not to steal anything?”

“Swear on the Queen,” Baz replies with his right hand raised. I raise mine as well.

Ella gives us a half smile and nods. She saunters off to tend to her daughter, leaving Baz and I with the dishes. I flick my eyes over to him. He’s still humming the tune slightly.

“Hey,” I say, “where’d you learn that song?”

Baz chuckles, shaking his head. “Niall  taught it to me. We were rip roaring drunk at his house and he decided to teach Dev and I some old sea shanties. That one, Blow The Man Down, was the least dirty.”

“Ha! Nice! I thought you three just spent all your time plotting against me.”

He snorts. “Sorry to break it to you, Snow, but not everything revolves around you.”

I snort back and bump his hip. “Yeah, I know. Still though, it’s funny. Teach me a few of those dirty ones later, huh?”

“Sure thing. The second we’re back at Watford I’ll break out the vodka and filthy limericks.”

His tone is sarcastic, but it brings up a real feeling for me. I twist my lips,  trying to find the words. And even, then I’m not sure they’re the right ones.

“Hey, Baz?” I ask quietly.

“Yes, Snow?” he replies.

“I know we shouldn’t give up hope, but if we’re gonna be stuck here...I just want you to know that, I’m not going to...leave you. I know the truce is just supposed to be temporary, but you’re the only familiar thing here, so...you just, you’ve got me. If we’re here. You’ve...got me.”

I’m not sure if he understands what I mean. Crowley,  _ I’m  _ not sure I understand what I mean. I just want someone I know while I’m trapped over a hundred years in the past. Even if he is my mortal enemy. Though he hasn’t acted like it for days now. If he keeps up like this, staying here wouldn’t be bad. It’s better than throwing curses and insults at each other.

Baz doesn’t answer. He’s staring intently at the bowl he’s drying. I’m waiting for some sort of response. Just a nod would be reassuring. But he’s as still as a statue. My anxiety mounts with every passing second.

I open my mouth to say something else, but Ella strolls back in before I can.

“My god, Molly is really weepy tonight. I think she misses her Pa a lot. Now, Mr. Pitch, how well do you know ‘Drunken Sailor’?”

Baz turns to her with a polite smile. “Very well, actually.”

“Excellent. Start us off please?”

Baz begins the song, pointedly looking at Ella instead of me. I wonder what I said to make him so miffed. And it surprises me how much that irks me.

* * *

 

Not too long after we finish with the dishes. Ella gives us a fond farewell. Molly runs from bed and gives us big hugs. She’s so adorable it’s painful.

We walk down the street under the stars. I keep my hands my pockets and eyes up on the sparkly sky. Baz and I stay in comfortable silence. At least, mostly comfortable. Baz is still ignoring me. We’ve been talking nicely for almost a week and now it just feels weird. It’s like we’re back at Watford, and I don’t like it all.

“Baz, we should-”

Baz whips around. He’s sneering like he always does, but hasn’t in the last week. “What is it now, Chosen One,” he snarls.

My anger nearly explodes. Just when I thought we had gotten somewhere I put my hands on my hips. “Seriously, Baz? After all we’ve been through, that’s still how you think of me!? I thought things had finally changed. But it looks like you still can’t help but be an arsehole!”

I expect him to yell back. But Baz has been breaking my expectations a lot lately. All the fury drains from his face into shock, and he steps back. “Last I heard you were the Chosen One, so-”

“I’m not here! And I thought you finally saw me as more than that! We’ve been doing well together here, and I-I thought we could just, I don’t know, keep doing well if we’re stuck. But if I’m just the bloody Chosen One and you’re enemy then I guess we shouldn’t!”

Our eyes are locked. Neither of us say anything, but I can see the way his face shifts. From shock, to anger, to...is that fear? I’ve never seen Baz afraid before, so I can’t tell. I’m about to ask him when a crack of thunder booms right above us. I look up, and little droplets start falling on my face.

“Shit,” I hiss.”

“We should find somewhere to sleep,” Baz says flatly. “I don’t want to sleep in the rain.”

“Me neither,” I grumble.

He nods once and takes a sharp turn toward a building. I follow dutifully with my head down. I feel more ignored and angry than ever.

Baz haggles for a room with the gruff innkeeper. We walk up the stairs in silence, get undressed in silence, and got to bed in silence. My body aches too much to even try to sleep on the floor, and I’m not asking for Baz’s bloody permission right now.

We lay with facing away for each other for what feels like ages. Except I can’t sleep. My brain is buzzing too much for drowsiness. I stay on my side, pointedly not looking at Baz. It’s difficult. I’ve gotten so used to him sleeping right next to me, it’s weird ignoring him. Only an hour of being enemies again and my chest aches.

“Snow? You awake?” he whispers.

I don’t speak for a bit, letting the silence hang in the air like a weight. I want to ignore him, keep him waiting for being an asshole. But it’s too difficult. I hate ignoring him, after we’ve been on good terms for so long. “Yes,” I reply, “but I’d rather not be. It’s been a long day.”

“I know, but I feel like I need to say...I’m sorry.”

I tense for a second, then slowly roll over. Baz is looking right at me. His face is completely relaxed, completely genuine. He’s not hiding like usual.

“Y-You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for getting angry and calling you the Chosen One. I was just...” He sighs and closes his eyes. “I was just lashing out. For what you said earlier.”

I scoot a but closer. “W-What did I say?”

“You said you’d be there for me if we were stuck.”

“Oh. Was, that wrong?”

He shakes his head. “No, no, it wasn’t wrong. It’s very considerate, I’m glad to hear you say it. It was just...” His voice trails away. For once, he’s the one who doesn’t have the words. “And to be clear, you have me as well, if you want. I’m sorry I was rude. I’m simply...not sure why you would want me, that’s all.”

I notice two very clear but similar emotions now: pain and fear. And it makes my heart hurt. I don’t want him to afraid, not of me. So I cautiously grab his hand, and when he doesn’t pull away, I hold it firmly, our fingers laced together. I hope he can under what it means. How much I do trust him.

“Because, after nearly dying in that warehouse, you made me feel safe with just a hug. And you’re the only familiar thing here, I need that." I take a shaky breath. My heart is climbing into my throat, blocking up the words. “Baz, just, I-I like...this. I like  _ you _ . I like working with you instead of against you. I like knowing you’re okay. I don’t think I could’ve gotten through the last week without you. And, if I’m going to be stuck here, I want us to just keep, being here for each other. I just- ugh.” I groan and shake my head. “Words suck.”

Baz’s face is still tense and afraid. I’m not sure I’ve fully convinced him. He slowly starts to pull his hand away, eyes wide like a terrified deer in the headlights.

“Simon...” he says shakily.

I surge forward and press my lips to his.

I don’t really know what I’m doing. He looked so worried and scared, and I hated seeing it. I just want him to know I’m here for him, that he doesn’t need to be afraid. And how much I need him too. How I can only get through this with him next to me.

Baz inhales sharply, pulling back slightly. And for a second I think I’ve fucked up. That I was wrong about his comment in the bordello, and worse, he simply doesn’t want to kiss me. Merlin, I’m really kissing him. I’m kissing a bloke, I’m kissing  _ Baz! _

I almost pull away. But then, he suddenly kisses me back with his whole body, pushing his mouth to mine and reaching his hand up to tangle it in my hair. And it feels like I’m melting.Our lips move madly. It’s messy and hungry and the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. His long fingers pull at the strands and I moan involuntarily. Little sparks flow from my scalp and through my blood. Even my most intense kisses with Agatha were nowhere close to this. Crowley how can this feel so good? How long have I wanted this? How long has he? I’d say the thought just occurred to me now, but then why is there a list of things I’ve always wanted to do to Baz? Like this.

With one hand I grab his hair and clench my fist, shoving us even closer together. The smooth strands slip between my fingers, just like I always thought they would. I open to him, letting our tongues slide against each other. Heat pools in my stomach, a shuddering breath escaping from my lungs. Baz clenches his own fist in my curls and lets out his own low moan. It’s a good thing I’m already laying down or I’d certainly have collapsed by now. Baz’s skin is still unnaturally cool, but there’s so much heat between our bodies that I barely notice. The world seems to fade away into just the two of us. And that’s all I want now.

We pull apart when the need for oxygen takes over. Our breathing is unsurprisingly laboured, eyes half lidded. Baz traces a finger down my jaw. He doesn’t seem afraid anymore. The look in his eyes could only be described as ‘reverent’, a word Penny taught me.

“I like this too,” he finally sighs after a long silence. “And you have me. For this and everything else. Crowley, you’ve always had me, Simon.”

I inhale sharply. My whole worldview just sort of shifts sideways. But when I look into his eyes, there’s no lying. Everything feels genuine. “Really?”

“Yes. For a long time.”

Now everything goes upside down. How long is ‘a long time?’ I don’t know, and I don’t care right now. Because at this moment I want and need him, and that’s all that matters.

I shift closer, tapping our foreheads and touching the tip of his long nose with mine. I close my eyes so I can focus on his smell, the feeling of his skin under my fingertips, how his hand cradles my face like I’m something precious. Never in a million years did I think I’d find such comfort in Baz Pitch’s embrace. But I do. I really, really do.

“It’s funny,” he whispers against my ear. “I always thought you were going to kill me.”

“Me too,” I reply. “I tried not to think about it.”

He sighs, and I shiver at the hot breath ghosting across my skin. I bury my face against his chest. He strokes my hair softly. I hold his shirt tightly in some childish way to keep him close. Even after being in Victorian London for a week, he still has a slight smell of cedar and bergamot. I drift off with Baz’s scent in my nose and his breathing against my ear.

* * *

 

**Part 4**

I wake up with Baz’s arms still wrapped around me. My nose is pressed against his chest, his chin resting on top of his head. The sun creeps in the window, the rays dancing across our room. I pull back to look at him.

He looks beautiful, like always. But I fully appreciate him now. His shining black hair, his fine cheekbones, the relaxed sleepy smile on his face. I want to smack myself for not noticing earlier. Well, I did notice, but I didn’t appreciate it. I guess it took a time travelling accident for me to see it.

Slowly, Baz wake up as well. His grey eyes flutter. I watch as he slowly focuses on me, his lids pulling back sharply. He looks me up and down like he’s not sure I’m really here. His hand slowly moves across my back. I stay still, letting him remember with his touch.

“Hi,” I say quietly.

“Was...,” he starts under his breath, “was last night a dream?”

I don’t answer with words. Rather, I shift forward and lightly kiss him. It’s nowhere near as intense or sloppy as our snogging last night. Just a peck, really. But it still feels utterly electric. When I pull away, Baz lets out a slow breath, eyes closed.

“Nope. Not a dream.”

“Clearly.” He looks at me with half lidded eyes, pushing a piece of hair off my forehead. “I’m still having trouble believing it was real.”

I shuffle even closer, our faces a breath apart. “It was, Baz. This is real,  _ I’m  _ real.”

Baz presses his fingers more firmly against my back. “I know. It’s just that I don’t...” He lets out a long sigh. “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Why? Why did you kiss me?”

I shrug, the blanket shifting slightly off us. “I don’t know. I wanted to.”

“Since when?”

I shrug again, and he sighs in a very annoyed fashion. Apparently that answer wasn’t sufficient. “Well, how long have you wanted to...y’know, kiss me?”

His face softens, eyes more open and muscles relaxed. But being so up close, I can see the hint of pain. He reaches forward and delicately traces my jaw. “I told you, a long time. Almost since we met, actually.”

My whole relationship with Baz takes an entirely new tone. All we’ve said and done and what I’ve felt. And in a weird fucked up way, he makes sense. “Almost since we met,” yes, but we’ve been forced to be enemies since then too. Both of us have been trapped. Not now though. For the first time in years, I feel like I have a choice. And I want to choose this. I want to choose him.

“Well,” I giggle, “you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

Baz giggles as well (fucking giggles), and it’s the most strangely beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “Are you telling me that a chimera wasn’t the height of romance?”

“Obviously. Along with pushing me down the stairs.”

“Well, that was an accident.” I level a deadpan look at him. “It was a fortunate accident though.”

I shove his shoulder. “I knew it!”

He laughs again and shoves back. We end up fighting but not really. There’s nothing mean about it for once. We’re just poking and prodding for no reason. Because we have no reason to fight anymore. Eventually, I get the upper hand and roll Baz onto his back, hovering above him. Fuck, he looks incredible. Smiling and laughing with his black hair spread out against the sheets like some raven halo. I stop laughing, because I’m too occupied with staring like an idiot.

He stops laughing too. We just gaze at each other. His swirling grey eyes bore into me. Before I know it, I’m leaning down, and he’s leaning up. And-

BANG BANG!

We jolt apart, with Baz literally shoving me off in shock.

“Oi! You two lads! You have to leave soon. I need to clean in there!” The gruff innkeeper shouts. I’m just relieved he didn’t walk in.

“Understood,” Baz yells back, “we’ll be out of here shortly.”

“Good!”

I hear his stomps fade and disappear. I look at Baz with a questioning expression. What the hell do we do now?

“Let’s get dressed and go talk somewhere,” he says cooly. “I think there are many things we should discuss.”

I nod, and reluctantly sliding out of bed. I don’t want to leave. I hate to think that once we leave, Baz will pretend like none of this ever happened. Once we’re away from the safety of the ratty blankets and sheets and back in the real world it’ll all be gone. It pains me to think about.

But I get dressed anyway. Because if I’ve learned anything over my life, sitting around and thinking about shit you can’t help doesn’t change anything. Right now, I wish I didn’t know that so well.

* * *

 

We end up in a local park sitting on a bench. I try to mimic Baz’s polite posture. Ankles crossed, straight back, hands in lap. But the weight of all we have to discuss is sort of making me slouch. Crowley, I don’t know how to do this.

“So,” Baz says resolutely, “what should we do?”

I shrug, because I can’t think of a better answer.

“It’s been a week and we still haven’t caught this Mr. Eddie and gotten our wands back. And we’re officially out of money. Maybe wandering around London isn’t the best methods.”

“We’ve gotten close a few times,” I mumble.

“But we’re still here.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair.” I fiddle with my fingers. “Got any...better ideas?”

Baz shifts uncomfortably, arms crossing over his chest. “Well, Warford obviously exists at this point. So does my family home. We could earn some money and try to find a to either of them. Maybe one of my ancestors can send us home. That’s a very large maybe though.”

“Why?”

“Time travel spells are hard enough, especially the ones to send you into the future since moving forward is more difficult than moving backwards. It would be far easier if we were casting the spell ourselves, since we’re from that era. But I doubt some mage from the past is going to just give us their wand. They could try to cast a spell themselves but it’s not likely to work in this era. Time travel isn’t a popular concept yet. So there’s a chance going to Watford would help, but it’s slim.”

I slouch even more. Man, talk about defeating. “Damn. So our chances aren’t great?”

Baz sighs, rubbing his forehead. “No, not superb.”

“So do we just stay here? Live as Normals in Victorian London?”

I can feel Baz’s grey gaze on me. I’m not sure what he’s thinking. His voice and face are flat. “Don’t you want to go home, Snow?”

I scoff with genuine offense. “Of course I do! This place stinks. And I miss Penny, Agatha, the Mage, everyone else...”

“There’s a ‘but’ on the end of that sentence, isn’t there?” Usually, his voice would be more scathing, but for once he actually sounds slightly sympathetic. I sort of like it better than the typical disdain.

I bite my lip to try and contain the rage and sadness and confusion I feel. It’s just too damn much. 

“I just, I do hate this,” I say, my voice both biting and strained. “I hate being stuck here, worrying about all the people I love and knowing I can’t do anything about it. Fuck, we’ll be long dead before the Humdrum even exists!” I pause, trying to find the right words. “B-But, I hate myself even more for being relieved that it I’m away from it all! I-I love magic, but I hate being the Chosen One. I’ve had nightmares all my life, I’ve almost died too many times, and I was kidnapped by a bloody super villain a few months ago. I’m just, I’m so  _ tired _ . And part of me doesn’t want to go back because it means probably getting killed by you or the Humdrum. I’ve never had the chance to avoid that before and...” I lean forward and hang my head in my hands. “I try to put on a brave face and focus on an endgame, but...I don’t want to die. Aleister Crowley, Baz, I really don’t want to die. I just want to be happy.”

I’m not crying, I won’t let myself. Crying would be too much of a distraction right now. I want to stay focused on what we’re going to do. But I’ve been holding all this in for ages. All this pain I’ve forced myself to not think about for the sake of the magickal world. This is why I don’t think, because when I do, it’s so overwhelming I feel like I’m going to drown. I’ve had to be the brave hero. No one’s ever let me fall apart. Not even myself.

I gasp. Suddenly, something cool touches my thigh. I lean back quickly. It’s only when my hand falls there and fingers curl over it that I realise it’s Baz’s hand. And he’s actually holding mine. I’m pulled back to reality by Baz. It’s the only sensation keeping me grounded.

“I understand,” he says quietly. “I never asked for the war either. I’ve always helped the families to honour my mother, protect her legacy and all. I was told the Mage would destroy everything she worked for. But I’ve had to do some horrible things because of it. Sometimes, it just doesn’t seem worth the pain and suffering. And I even question if this is what my mother would have wanted for me. The Mage pisses me off, of course, but I don’t want to hurt or kill anyone...especially you.” My heart swells and breaks all at once.  Baz sighs, long and heavy. “I don’t want to die either. Crowley, I wish I did. It would make things so much easier.”

My heart twists painfully. “Please don’t talk like that.”

He sighs again, absentmindedly rubbing his forehead with his free hand. “I simply mean that if I were dead, I wouldn’t be shame to my family, I wouldn’t have to kill you. It would all be much simpler.

“No,” I say firmly, turning to face him. “You being dead wouldn’t be easier. I-I want- I  _ need _ you with me, Baz. Be it here in Victorian London or if we get back at Watford.”

“Since when?” he scoffs.

“Since you helped me survive this crazy mess. I told you, I like you, I like  _ this _ . We’ve worked so well together, and if we end up going back, we can keep working together to find a way to stop the Humdrum. Then everyone on both sides of the war will see we’re better off together.”

“And the whole magickal world will hold hands and sing a song about cooperation.”

“Well, we’re holding hands aren’t we?”

I see the blush crawl up Baz’s face. But he doesn’t let my hand go either. We go silent again. We look out over the park. Where people stroll and children play without a care in the world. That’s something neither of us have ever experienced. 

“I am still worried though,” I whisper, “about everyone else back home. What if the Humdrum kills them? Because I’m not there?”

“Well,” he replies quietly, “if we’re going by destiny logic, then this was always meant to happen. You’re supposed to get stuck here, and whether the Humdrum destroys everything or not is meant to be.”

“That’s a depressing thought.”

“It’s the best I can think of.”

“I know, it’s okay,” I sigh. “What if we end up staying here forever? We should think of that too.”

Baz makes a contemplative sound, twisting his perfect mouth. “Well, we’re going to need money no matter what. Getting to Watford or Hampshire or living here will be costly.”

“I like food. Maybe I could go work at Ella’s tavern.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Just because you like it does not mean you’ll do well working around it, Snow.”

My anger bubbles. I hate when he just does this, dismissing me so easily. I thought he’d stopped. I cross my arms and turn away from him with a humph. “I’m trying to find solutions here, so I’d appreciate it if you weren’t being such a dickhead,” I snap.

Usually Baz continues to dismiss me. But now, he sighs and shifts closer to me so we’re touching slightly. “Sorry,” he says with genuine regret. “I’m good with numbers. Maybe I could be a bookkeeper.”

“That’d be good.”

“Both waiter and bookkeeper are large steps down from powerful wizard,” he chuckles.

I chuckle too, shrugging. “I supposed. Though,” I reach for his hidden hand, and hold it when he doesn’t flinch away, “there’s nothing stopping a waiter and a bookkeeper from...being together.”

He levels a cool look at me. Not mean, but not kind either. Just sort of blank. “You do know being gay is illegal in this era, correct?”

“Wasn’t Oscar Wilde gay?”

“Exactly. He was imprisoned for it.”

“Oh, right.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Well, we could keep being roommates. Pretend we’re just friends out in the open and kiss behind our closed door.”

“That’s not ideal,” he mutters.

“None of our options are ideal.”

“Touché.”

His mouth shifts a bit. He’s got that look he always does when he’s plotting. “I suppose, if we stay, it’d be easier to pay for one flat together. Find somewhere with a discreet landlord. And if the door is shut, then, well, I suppose you can’t be arrested for being gay if no one sees you.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s true.” I nod rapidly. Crowley, I’m grinning, I can’t stop grinning. Just the idea of having a simple life, with no war or ultimate evils, feels incredible. It’s never even been a possibility. A place where Baz and I both live. Where I have a chance. Where both of us get a happy ending.

I can feel Baz’s hidden hand grabbing mine. I squeeze back. “This could work,” he says quietly. And he sounds dangerously hopeful.

“Yeah,” I reply at the same volume and just as wistful, “it could.”

We look at each other simultaneously. Baz is smiling too, just softly, barely there. It really does work for him though. But he still looks absolutely amazing. Because he’s happy, and so am I. For the first time in a long while.

I think I could stay here. As long as he’s with me.

Baz’s face turns mischievous. It makes my heart stutter for a beat. “Come along, Snow,” he says, standing up quickly, “follow me.”

I give him a curious look. “Are you plotting?”

“Yes, but you’re going to like it this time. Now c’mon.”

He starts walking away, and I scramble to follow him. We leave the park and stroll down the busy streets. I notice that is looking down every dingy alleyway. What the fuck is he looking for?

Suddenly, he yanks on my sleeve and pulls down the most dingy, dirty of them all. We follow the winding path to a small alcove.

“Baz,” I hiss, “what are you-”

Before I know it, Baz is pushing me up against the wall and kissing me hard. I l let out a surprised sound, but it quickly turns into a sigh. I can’t help it, it feels so good. He holds my jaw delicately with both hands. His lips mold perfectly to mine. I clutch his coat in a desperate attempt to get him closer. Honestly, I still don’t know if I’m gay or anything, but I do know that I have to keep holding Baz. I have to do that.

We keeps kissing like that for Merlin knows how long. It feels like more than kissing though. With every press of Baz’s mouth to mine, I feel safe, I feel happy. It feels like home-

What was that sound?

It’s a small tinkle of rocks, followed by shuffling and grumbling. Oh fucking Merlin and Morgan, someone’s here! Baz must hear it too, as he pulls away with wide eyes. We separate but we can’t stop panting. My heart beats in my ears as the steps get closer.

“Stupid worthless sticks,” the steps creator grumbles.

A shadow crosses the entrance, then a man. A man in a bright patchy coat.

Oh. My. God.

“Hey!” I shout without thinking.

Eddie looks at us, gasps, then breaks into a run. But Baz is already running. Eddie tries to outpace him, but just before he turns the corner out of the alley, Baz catches his collar and hauls him back.

“Gah!” Eddie chokes out. Baz holds him a foot in the air, sneering viciously.

“Hello,” he says, voice smooth as well as terrifying. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Give us our wands back!” I shout, hands on my hips.

“I found them fair and square,” he replies shakily.

“Bullshit! You pulled them off us while we were passed out. Now give them back!”

“Or what, boy?!”

Baz snarls, and I notice that his fangs are on full display. I inhale sharply. I’m scared and I’m not even the one he’s trying to intimidate.

“Or I’ll make you suffer,” he growls.

(I have to stop myself from laughing, because he still sounds like he’s wearing braces.)

Eddie gulps. He reaches a shaky hand into his coat and pulls out our wands. I breathe a long sigh of relief. I snatch them from him. Baz drops into a heap on the ground. He runs off as quickly as I thought he would. Leaving Baz and I standing there. 

“Holy shit,” I whisper, “we’ve got our wands back.”

“Yeah,” Baz replies, sounding breathless. “We do. We...we can go home.”

The reality of his words slap me in the face. Yes, we can go home. Back to our time, to Watford, to...everything. There’s no excuses anymore. We have to go. No more choice.

Baz and I turn to face each other. His lips are open with deep breath. His grey eyes roam over me slowly, just once. Like he’s taking in for the last time. Then his mouth closes, and he holds out his hand.

“My wand, please?” he asks cooly.

I blink a few times, then shake my head. “O-Oh right. Here.”

I place the ivory wand in his hand. He spins it between his long fingers, readjusting to the weight of it, then grips it firmly. There’s a certain unusual tightness to his grip.

“Okay,” he says, “ **_there’s no place like home._ ** ”

“Wait!” I shout.

But my words are lost as the world warps around us.

* * *

 

It’s not as violent as the first time. More like I’m moving through a really strong wind tunnel. The ground vanishes under me. I squeeze my eyes shut and just let everything rush and blow around me. Baz’s hand keeps me steady.

Then it all stops. There’s no wind. I’m just standing still on solid ground. I blink a few times, readjusting to my surroundings. It starts blurry, then comes into focus. Bright sunlight is pouring over us. Large old buildings loom, but they’re not Victorian. They’re the Weeping Tower and the White Chapel.

It’s Watford.

“Aleister Crowley! it’s Simon Snow and Baz Pitch! They’re back!”

Baz and I turn towards the voice. It’s some little third year, pointing and gaping at us. We’re in the middle of the courtyard. Other people were walking around, but now they’ve all stopped to look at us. There are whispers and gasps galore. Baz snaps his hand away from mine, and I suddenly feel empty.

People rush towards us, cheering and shouting. (That’s mostly for me though, I think.) We’re swarmed by mages asking a thousand questions. “Where were you?” “What happened?” “Was it the Humdrum?” One voice cuts through for me, though.

“Simon! Get out of my way idiots, Simon!”

Penny muscles her way through the crowd with a scowl. But when she sees me, it melts into pure relief. She wraps her arms around me in a fierce hug I happily return.

“Thank Merlin you’re okay,” she sobs, “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Pen,” I whisper.

“I know. I’m just- I’m just glad you’re home.”

“As am I, Simon.”

We separate and look up. The crowd has parted for the Mage, standing right in front of us in all his green glory. He doesn’t look disappointed or angry or even happy I’m back. He’s a stern gruff statue.

“Hello, sir,” I say.

“Hello, Simon. We have much to discuss. Let’s go.”

“Right now? Sir, I just got back-”

“Yes, exactly. We must review what caused this little debacle so it will never happen again.”

“O-Of course, sir.”

He spins on his heels and walks towards his building. I follow close behind with Penny still holding my arm. She’s very reluctant to let go, but I am too. I look back to see Baz being dragged by two Mage’s Men in another direction. I try to catch his eye, but he’s looking straight ahead. My stomach drops out under me.

* * *

 

I’ve been pacing for what feels like forever, but it’s probably only been an hour. That’s how long the Mage interrogated me. He asked all the basic questions. What happened, what we did, how we got back. I answered them as basically and vaguely as possibly. Of course omitting certain details that would get me in huge trouble, like kissing the son of my mentor’s mortal enemy. More than once, actually.

I groan and sit on my bed, holding my head between my knees. Baz was shoved into the Mage’s office after me. I barely got a chance to look at him. I hope he’s okay. The more selfish part of me is hoping he’ll be back soon just so we can talk. Or snog, either is good Will he still want to though? I didn’t get a chance to ask him before he cast the spell. Yes, we said we’d stay together in both Victorian times and at Watford. But that was when our chances were looking so slim. Now we’re back, where we’re supposed to be enemies. Can words really hold up against an impending magickal war?

The door slams. My head jolts up, then my mouth goes dry. He’s standing right there, still dressed in his slightly dirty but posh Victorian clothes, holding his top hat in front of him. I stand up so quickly I nearly trip and fall down again.

Baz’s expression almost breaks my heart. It’s the one I’m too familiar with, blank and bored. Showing not a single positive or negative emotion. It’s so infuriating that I feel the urge to scream at him. To make him react somehow. But it’s been a long week. I’m too tired to shout. I just look at him witherling, showing him just how exhausted I am from everything. I’m too tired to fight him. And even if I wasn’t, I don’t want to. If he hates me again now, okay, but I don’t anymore. I’m not going to pretend I do.

He keeps staring at me. The tension is becoming thicker and thicker. My anxiety gets worse and worse. Just as I’m about to give up and turn around, Baz smiles. It’s soft and somewhat reluctant, but it’s all him. I let out choked laugh, bordering on a sob. Before I realise it, I’m running towards him.

“Oof!” he says as I tackle hug him. He stumbles a bit, but he still hugs me back, pressing me close to him. Utter relief fills my whole body. Crowley, I thought I almost lost him, and it felt like the world was ending. I bury my face in his shoulder. He smells like cedar, bergamot, and the Victorian grime we both had to wade through.

It takes me a moment to realise I’m crying. I’m not sure why. The relief and fear from being home? The worry and sadness I kept pent up from our time in London finally breaking out? The thought of losing the fragile thing Baz and I found? All three at the same time?

“Shh,” Baz whispers into my ear, “it’s alright, Simon. Everything’s okay now.”

“I’m sorry,” I sob. “I’m just- You were, and I was- Baz, I-”

“No, don’t be sorry, it’s okay.” He presses his lips to my hair. “It’s going to be okay. It’s all right, love.”

I clutch him tighter. I’ve never let myself fall apart before. But Baz is holding me up now, so I just cry and cry. Baz uses one hand to smooth hair out of my face, the other tight across my back. I can feel some wetness against my temple. So I hold him tighter in return.

We just stay there for a long time, holding each other up.

* * *

 

I’m laying in my bed, dressed in my Watford pyjamas. They’re so much more comfortable than Victorian clothes. And my shitty bed is so much better than the ones at the inn. 

I listen to Baz’s shower. It’s like a distant rainstorm. And it’s weirdly calming. He’s been in there for awhile but I understand why. Baz graciously let me take a shower first, and I spent too long just enjoying the sensation of water pouring over my skin. Then it took forever to get the gritty feeling off me. So I just wait for him with my eyes closed.

Ten minutes later, the water turns off. I listen as Baz pads around the bathroom and gets dressed. Then the door opens, and his steps get closer, until they stop in front of me. I know he’s standing right there. I don’t open my eyes, instead just reaching my arm up towards him. I hear him sigh, then a weight collapse on my mattress. We scoot towards each other until our noses are nearly touching. He smells like his fancy soaps and it’s the most wonderful scent in the world. Baz’s arm drapes across my side, I hold his neck. We lay in companionable silence for a long time.

“You okay?” I whisper.

“Yes,” he replies, “mostly. It’s...strange being back here after it all. Like of London was a weird dream.”

“I know, I feel like that too. But I don’t want to forget it, though. Not the bad or the good.”

“Me neither, Simon, me neither.” He presses our foreheads together. I dig my nails into his soft skin.

“Baz, a-all we talked about, we can still do that, right? Defeat the Humdrum? Stop the war? You think we can do it?”

He breathes out a small laugh. “Simon, I truly think there isn’t anything we can’t do together.”

I can’t help but giggle. I finally look at him properly, and find that he’s looking back. We stare for awhile. Crowley, I could really lose myself in those deep sea eyes. 

“I’m tired now though,” I sigh, “‘let’s defeat the Humdrum and stop the war tomorrow.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss right over a mole on my cheek. “Okay. Goodnight, love.”

I kiss him lightly on the lips, just once before pressing my face into the crook of his neck. “Goodnight, darling.”

Baz sighs into my hair. I take slow, deep breaths of his smell. And when I sleep, I don’t have a nightmare for once, but it’s not a really dream either. It’s just an overwhelming feeling. A sense of safeness, of happiness

For the first time in years, I feel truly at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> This was fucking epic to write, honestly. It took hours to get the first draft done, hours to edit, and even longer to write in a way that made sense. I'm very proud of it though. I hope you all enjoyed it. There'll be more requests filled soon enough :D


End file.
